A Knight's Counterpoint
by Domenic
Summary: AU Star Wars:KotorPOTO crossover, The Force has bonded Erik with the Jedi Bastila, sparking a quest beyond imagination 4,000 years before the Galactic Empire in a galaxy far, far away....
1. Prologue

Author's Beginning Notes: For a while, I've been tempted to combine some of my favorite fandoms into one massive crossover fanfiction, and recently buying and playing the x-box game SW: Knights of the Old Republic has inspired me to finally try it, as well as the SW/POTO AU fanfiction Black Diamond by hikari-no-tsubasa. (Play the game, read the fanfic, I implore you.) I hope you enjoy this story, and please remember to leave a review; feedback is always appreciated.

Summary: (AU SW: Knights of the Old Republic/POTO crossover) The Force has mysteriously bonded Erik with the Jedi Bastila, causing a chain of events that will shake the very foundations of the galaxy far, far way 4,000 years before the rise of the Galactic Empire...

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera or Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, a.k.a. KOTOR.

Prologue

"Be brief when stating your business with me." The arrogance in the masked boy's tone brought an image of the Jedi Bastila to Nadir's mind, but he quickly dismissed it, although he did find himself instinctively slipping into deference mode, and bending down on the bar with his elbows resting upon its surface, his hands placed beneath his bearded chin, seemed to give the action a foot in the physical domain.

"To be blunt," the dark man began, ignoring the echoing din of sound in the rest of the cantina, "your reputation has caught the attention of the Republic, and they wish to offer you a job on the Endar Spire, one of the many starships in their fleet." For some reason, Nadir felt rather reluctant to share with Erik that the Jedi had also pushed for his appointment, moreso than the Republic actually. Perhaps the soldier's reluctance stemmed from his own numbed shock over that development. He was well aware of Erik's statistics, having been his usual attentive self during the briefing: at 14 years old, a member of the human race just as Nadir was, and orphaned as an infant, Erik J. Leroux had traveled to more planets than most would ever glimpse in a lifetime, the boy being a restless vagabond who went from planet to planet searching to satisy his insatiable taste for knowledge; ability-wise, he was said to be remarkably flexible, able to act as a scientist, a doctor, a warrior, a mechanic, a pilot, an inventor, and a hacker, those skills most appealing to the Republic, while for something more leisure-oriented, the boy could function as an architect, a musician, and an artist; given the range of his capablities, Leroux had quite a resume of jobs under his belt, some less flattering than others in the eyes of the legal system; data on his physical appearance had been the minimal required for identification purposes, listing the boy as physically unassuming with his overall thin structure dressed predominantly in black, and in possession of dark hair long enough to be kept in a short tail, but his most notable feature was the trademark white mask.

Given all that information, Nadir not only recognized his target visually, but he could comprehend as to why the Republic would want said target in their ranks, at least for a little while; similar things had happened in this war against the Sith, the soldier acknowledged, the Republic enlisting people of a more mercenary nature to serve for certain lengths of time, the need for numbers always persisting. And yet...the Jedi's involvement in this recruitment struck Nadir as an odd move, and consequentially identified Erik as a unique case in the soldier's mind, despite his instinctive protests.

"Well, I give you credit for the lack of enthusiasm in your voice when talking of the 'many' starships in the Republic's fleet; at least your tone doesn't try to pretend." The boy's golden, almost feline eyes glowed from behind his mask with a mocking mirth; the physical information from the briefing of course paled when compared to the flesh and bone reality. Paralleling Nadir, the boy also bent over the bar, resting his elbows as well upon its surface, his chin too placed above his darkly gloved hands, the rest of his body all clad from practically head to foot in the same black, the cloak wrapping about him comfortably in its graceful folds; he resembled a living shadow born of ancient folklore, despite the stark whiteness of his mask and the skin of his face. Yet even with his rather foreboding garments, Erik **did** look unassuming at first glance, moreso than at first believed; one could get away with calling him scrawny, but Nadir could feel the strength softly pulsating within the boy, and knew for certain that Erik was not someone to be easily trifled with.

"...There is no denying that the Republic's overall numbers are less than satisfactory."

"Well, it's not one of the worst understatements I've heard," grunted the boy, his curtain of wild dark hair shadowing his laughing eyes; the tail described in the briefing was just as wild as the rest, although it was as short as foretold, only reaching past his slim shoulders a little far down his cloaked back.

A loud noise from behind, and both Nadir and Erik silmutaneously reached out, pulling each other down, ducking below the hastily produced alien projectile resulting from a typical drunken brawl, one who ended up crashing into the opposite side of the cantina. The cantina underwent one of its usual increased intensities of chaos level, so Erik and Nadir paid little mind and immediately went back to their prior positions at the bar.

"At the moment," the boy began, his face turning to the side to face the soldier, "I am free to accept your offer."

"Are you not interested in what the Republic has to offer you in return for your services," asked the elder man as he slowly nodded his head in agreement. A gloved hand merely waved flippiantly in his direction, Erik replying, "You should consider yourself fortunate that at this point, I am financially secure enough to pay more interest to the job at hand, than the rewards to be reaped..." The boy turned away and lazily leaned back, his arms now folded behind his head in a gesture echoing of childish charm, a distant look in his eyes. "That is how I prefer it anyway," he put in nonchalantly.

"How soon can you be prepared to leave?"

"Nice to see you aren't giving orders," the boy stated with a lopsided smirk pasted on his face as he rested his elbows and hands back in their former positions, and Nadir could not resist indulging in a smirk of his own.

"I can be ready by tomorrow morning," Erik answered growing serious, although smirking again once he said, "It's not like I have much to pack..."

"Your transport will be waiting in docking bay 94," Nadir said as he sipped at his drink, savoring its tangy taste.

"I trust you'll be there," replied the boy, the smirk never leaving his face.

"Yes, of course," the soldier began, setting his drink down, "although I will not be on the Endar Spire, in case you had assumed I had a position with that vessel."

"The thought had crossed my mind," the boy remarked, taking an experimental sip of his own drink, resulting in himself choking back a gagging noise, an expression of disdain crossing his face, an emotion visible even with the mask's presence. Nadir choked too, choked back a laugh at Erik's reaction by asking if he had any other questions. In response, the boy merely shook his head no, and soon excused himself to head back toward his apartment to begin packing. Nadir watched Erik's retreating back as it faded out of the cantina and into the sandy streets of Tatooine, harsh winds whipping his cloak about him, and eventually he lost sight of the boy. Sighing, although he wasn't particularly sure why, the soldier made his departure as well, heading back toward the docking bay he had specified to Erik, and soon beginning his transmission to the Endar Spire notifying its crew of their new member.

Author's Ending Notes: Well, there goes my rather short prologue, and Nadir's guest appearance; I don't plan on him turning up again for a while...o.k., I'm not even certain if he **will** show up again... (Ah, Tatooine; practically all major SW-related stuff starts there...) I hope my first time writing Nadir, the Persian, was satisfactory to the more experienced investigators of his character. Making Erik 14 is simply an indulging of my desire; also, I rather plan to make Erik the main POTO focus in this crossover, and the interactions with the rest of the main SW: KOTOR cast will be focused upon too; in other words, other characters like Christine, Raoul, Madame Giry, Meg Giry, Nadir the Persian...they may prove to be little more than guest stars.


	2. Chapter 1

Author's Beginning Notes: I have to admit, I haven't finished SW: KOTOR yet, but I'm working on it, although it'll probably take me awhile... (I imagine that the progress on this fic will be linked with the progress in the game... I plan for the basic plot of this story to be similar to the one in the game SW: KOTOR, following its path somewhat; same thing with most of the strict SW: KOTOR characters, their backgrounds will remain mostly the same as they were in the game. ) Unfortunately for myself, I accidentally spoiled myself on its plot, so...well, that spoiler could work to my advantage for this fic... Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story and please remember to leave a review; feedback is always appreciated.

Summary: (AU SW: Knights of the Old Republic/POTO crossover) The Force has mysteriously bonded Erik with the Jedi Bastila, causing a chain of events that will shake the very foundations of the galaxy far, far way 4,000 years before the rise of the Galactic Empire...

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera or Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, a.k.a. KOTOR.

Chapter 1

Jumping Ship

Erik tended to keep his lips tightly shut whenever he spilled blood in combat so that the crimson liquid would not accidentally invade his innards, and taking down Sith troopers was no different. The boy ignored the fact that this was the first time he had ever truly faced the Sith before, focusing on simply treating them as any other enemy, so that seeds of doubt would not fester and grow into choking thorns. One blade he had stolen, the other he had taken pains to craft himself, both swords swept in arcs, lines of blood trailing behind them and causing stains not only on themselves, but around them; crimson dotted the Endar Spire's pristine white corridors, the boy's cloak was flecked with the blemishes, and one lone drop dripped down his mask from the right eye-hole, creating the morbid illusion of crying. The Sith troopers were simple kills for Erik, their overconfidence in their armor and their fleet's ambush acting as their downfall; their bodies littered the floor, and the boy barely payed them a second glance as he passed them, not even bothering to notice the bloody footsteps he left behind after obliviously stepping into a crimson puddle.

Almost working on automatic, Erik continued his journey toward the bridge, only wanting to do his job, which now required him under the circumstances of this ambush to protect his commanding officer, the Jedi Bastila, someone he had never even glimpsed during his single month aboard the Endar Spire, and upon reflection, found that rather pathetic. The boy leaped back in time to avoid another explosion, another shot from the Sith's starships; picking his away around the debris, Erik growled in irritation, his fists tightening around his blades. What the hell happened to Bastila's battle meditation, thought the boy as he stifled another growl, turning once again at a corner, and dodging a searing blast that grazed his arm, but just barely. He sprang behind a wall for momentary cover, quickly slipping his blades back into their sheaths, and pulling his punjab lasso out, sprang back out just as quickly, observing that there was a duo of Sith blocking his path. Before the armored figures could shoot off another barrage, Erik's lasso whipped about, catching hold of one of their blasters, ripping it from his grasp and slamming it into the other trooper, efficiently knocking her out; in a matter of seconds, Erik whipped his lasso with its tied-on weight back toward the last and stumped trooper, knocking him back crashing into the wall. When used, that method has never failed me, mused Erik as he passed by more fallen foes, loosening the noose of his lasso so that the borrowed blaster would slip out of its grasp and clatter to the floor.

Battle meditation--he had heard stories of that Force technique, how it could change the tide of heated combat by altering the moods and morales of the combatants, making one side weaker than the other; he had heard that no other Jedi was as skilled in that technique as Bastila was, and that it was only because of her that the Republic had lasted this long against the Sith thus far. So in other words, the Republic's pretty much screwed if she's lost, the boy thought with detachment as he raced down toward the bridge. Erik was aware that he was almost there, the sound of pounding boots echoing about the walls. There were more explosions from the outside Sith fleet, slowing his progress further, and his eyebrows beneath the mask burrowed further, and once more he pushed down another irritated growl. But even his annoyance was too weak when compared to his amazement and cancled out once he had reached the point where he was just a few feet in front of the bridge's entrance, for there blocking him was a lightning-swift fight between two genuine Force users, a Sith and a Jedi.

Their lightsabers were merely crackling streaks of green against red, the combatants blurs of brown against black; they weaved and they dodged, they parried and plunged, spidery cracks in the walls evidence of banging Force blasts. Although Erik's mind was screaming at him to do something other than stand still and gawk like a fool, the boy couldn't help it; this was something he had never seen before in all of his explorations, and yet confusion gnawed at his insides too, for there was a nagging familiarity in his soul that made no sense. And on and on the collage of colors in battle waged, sweeping about the Endar Spire in a random pattern, until finally sudden frozen clarity sprang up, the Jedi's humming lightsaber of green embedded in the Sith's chest, his own lightsaber cluttering noisily to the ground. In the abrupt stillness, Erik could recognize the Jedi as a female human, perhaps somewhere in her late twenties, but the moment was disrupted when an explosion struck again, hitting the Force user perfectly, her death shriek mingling with his own "DAMN!" as he instinctively covered himself from the flying debris with his dark cloak. Once the smoke cleared up, the boy slowly, almost hesitantly, lowered his fabric shield, a look in his golden eyes that almost resembled horror. To crush any shreds of hope, he went over to the fallen Jedi and kneeled by her side, checking her pulse, predictably feeling nothing; Erik noticed her eyes were green, as well as wide open as if welcoming death, and the boy reverently and solemnly closed her eyelids shut, his arms feeling uncharasterically stiff.

After a few seconds Erik shook himself of his restricting compassion with a sneer, ashamed of his blatant display of weakness, of his failure to fully accustom himself to loss of life. He stood up and raced past the final feet for the bridge, ignoring the image of green lifeless orbs staring blankly ahead. The boy's fingers hastily tapped the door's computer panel, and with a hiss it opened, its metallic surface splitting in half to reveal the bridge in all its mangled glory, mangled by the bodies and debris littering its floor. Erik choked back a string of foul words as he saw the backs of several Sith troopers, but somewhat relieved to realize he had the element of surprise for their attention was focused on a single Republic officer; immediately, the boy switched his lasso in favor of his swords, and silently snuck behind a trio of troopers as they shot a barrage of sizzling blasts toward his comrade, who fortunately dodged each one with ease as he jumped behind a nearby computer terminal. As the other Republic fired off his own round of shots, distracting Erik's prey, the boy gracefully swept his stolen sword around and deftly sliced off all three of the Siths' heads, one of them actually striking another opponent, distracting him long enough for the Republic from before to shoot him dead.

There were four more Sith troopers left, and the whole quartet immediately began shooting in Erik's direction, who was hardpressed to deflect all of their blasts with his blades, mostly relying on his comrade to hurry and strike them down with his own gun. The boy's patience and faith paid off, as two troopers fell down with a scorching hole in each one, and quickly Erik sprang in and cut down the remaining two who had foolishly turned away from him to focus on the Republic gunman. The boy sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly in relieved tension as his golden eyes snapped to his comrade with all the typical grace of a feline; it was Carth Onasi, the one who had notified him on his communicator to head to the bridge to aid Bastila, but Erik had also heard of stories depicting his legendary warrior and starpilot prowess in the Mandalorian and Sith wars. When the boy had first seen him, he felt a little unimpressed by Onasi's appearance, who was not nearly as menacing-looking as he had imagined; his eyes looked far too gentle, although Erik did reluctantly acknowledge the weary experience in their depths, which also confirmed his old age in the boy's opinion. After observing him in combat and in its direct aftermath, Erik only noticed a small change in agression with his demanor, and the boy's view of him barely changed. Nonetheless...

"Bastila already boarded an escape pod," Carth explained in a hurried and commanding voice that was able to tigtly grab Erik's attention. "We'd better do the same if we want to live," he finished, immediately running toward the escape pods that were luckily close to the bridge, the boy trailing behind him out of pure necessity, and possessing a newfound respect for Carth, rather relieved to find the man not immediately treating him as a child; however, after further consideration, he rationalized that perhaps Onasi was still caught in the fervor of combat and shock, not fully comprehending Erik's age, thus no irritating adult superiority. Another explosion struck, so large the whole Endar Spire rocked, and the pair slipped and skidded down the floors, helping each other up once the ship had grown still once more. The boy, regaining his footing a few seconds quicker than Carth, was first to their method of escape, swiftly typing onto one of the corresponding computer panels and activating one of the pods. Onasi swept in, and once Erik was completely inside, the elder warrior slammed his fist onto a large crimson button, which immediately locked up their pod and ejected it into space. Even if it was in an escape pod, the boy still felt that same excited beating of his heart as he blasted into space in such confined quarters, just like the many starfighters he had flown in the past; that feeling was never evoked whenever Erik was on a huge starship.

Taris--that was their destination, the boy knew, although he could not see the planet at all now from inside the escape pod; a numb fear registered with the boy that the Sith fleet would undoubtedly invade Taris and place it under quarantine to find Bastila, her importance difficult for anyone to forget. In the first few seconds of the trip, Erik was surprised to find it rather peaceful, but knew it wouldn't last soon, and once their pod immediately began spinning crazily around, the boy took a moment to consider that sometimes he **really** hated being correct. Escape pods need safety belts, Erik sarcastically thought as he and Carth continually banged into each other as their pod rocked back and forth, beads of sweat beginning to drip beneath his mask as warmth increased at an ungodly swift rate, the boy cursing the science behind an object's entry into any planet's atmosphere. However, Erik was overall relieved by the speed that enabled them to reach Taris in such a delightfully fast period of time , him feeling the pangs of impatient youth, but grew to regret it once his head slammed down particularly hard, blood flashing before his eyes before being covered up in smothering darkness.

Author's Ending Notes: To suit my needs, details won't adhere strictly to SW: KOTOR, such as the precise mechanics of escape pods. Thank you for all of the reviews so far, and Shootingstar...I've been linked? Cool, would you be able to show me what forum you linked me at? I'd like to see any comments there, and you if you want, you can continue linking this story there... (I knew SW before POTO, so I was a fan of it first, but I love both of them now...they're both really awesome.) Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that most recent installment, and please remember to leave a review; feedback is always appreciated.


	3. Chapter 2

Author's Beginning Notes: For the majority of this fic, it will be in the POV of Erik, but there will be times when it will shift to other characters, like it first did in the prologue with Nadir, and in this chapter with Carth Onasi. Also, it should probably be noted that it has been difficult for me to see the ALW Phantom of the Opera musical on the stage, although I have seen the 2004/2005 movie with Gerard Butler, and that's what got me into the phandom in the first place; after the movie, I tracked down Gaston Leroux's original book at the library, eventually bought my own copy, and then I borrowed Susan Kay's Phantom too. (I really want to buy that book now, I adore it... Anyone here have any shopping suggestions for me?) Shootingstar/Merlyn-Maiden, I couldn't understand the web address for the forum you specified to me. Would you please write it more clearly next time? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this latest installment, and please remember to leave a review; feedback is always appreciated.

Summary: (AU SW: Knights of the Old Republic/POTO crossover) The Force has mysteriously bonded Erik with the Jedi Bastila, causing a chain of events that will shake the very foundations of the galaxy far, far way 4,000 years before the rise of the Galactic Empire...

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera or Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, a.k.a. KOTOR.

Chapter 2

As Luck Would Have It

Carth groaned as he rubbed his aching head, feeling for how many bruises there were, his short brown hair tickling his fingers. Instinctively, he began moving his legs, starting to untangle himself from his fellow survivor as he began rubbing his jaw, his scraggly beard barely registering with his senses. Carth heard a metallic clank once he was fully free of the boy, and his eyes snapped in the noise's direction, finding just a gloved hand lying on the pod's floor, and he blinked rapidly in bewilderment, wondering if it was too far a stretch to wonder if that body part had made the noise. The old soldier hesitantly reached for the boy's hand, seeking to confirm a foreboding theory developing in his mind; gently, he pushed the dark glove up the wrist, and to his revulsion found his theory correct, for the boy did possess a cybernetic replacement, its cold metallic surface colored a silvery gray. Despite his care, through the soldier's inspection of the boy's hand, its corresponding arm bumped against the wall, making another clanking sound. No, thought Onasi with wide eyes as he almost reverently pushed the glove back into place, then stretched his hand out to feel the rest of the arm, his fingers sensing beneath their skin solid hardness that no human flesh possessed. Damn, his entire right arm's mechanical, marveled Carth as he shoved back his curiosity for another time, and went to shake his comrade awake, cursing once he spotted the massive well of blood pouring forth from the boy's forehead, staining his white mask.

With experienced ease and efficient speed, Carth took out a miniature first-aid kit and immediately pulled out a roll of bandages, beginning to wrap the boy's forehead after he had removed the mask, which had been in the way. The man was fully aware that he just had to give a quick treatment of the injury and stop the bleeding, for time was not being friendly; the escape pod could only have landed in the Upper City of Taris, a prime spot for people, and to even be lucky, they would have had to landed in an area remote enough so that crowds would only enclose them in a matter of minutes; crowds were only a problem because of the damn Sith fleet, who would be hounding the planet for Bastila, meaning any escape pods that landed. A hiding spot was called for in this situation, somewhere to rest and plan...

The old soldier hefted the boy atop his shoulder, grunting a little from the mechanical arm's weight; he picked up the mask as an afterthought, and began easing his way out of the pod, tenderly checking himself for any broken bones, and Carth was surprised to find himself relatively well off after the crash, only possessing the obligatory bruises. Once out of the pod, he broke out into a frenzied run through the crash's residual smoke, taking a lungful of fresh air once away from the whispery substance, and a gut feeling commanded him to simply run to the building straight ahead; its doors automatically opened as his presence neared, and the soldier burst inside the structure, relieved and shocked to find the halls empty. A door down the hall with tell-tale scorch marks and scratches and stains--clearly abandoned--beckoned to Carth, and he made a beeline for it. The man stifled a curse once he found it locked, but the defenses of its security lock were simple enough so that even he could hack into it and bypass the lock. The door opened as quickly as other doors he had used before, but creaked loudly as it did so. Nevertheless, Carth raced in with his comrade in tow, and immediately shut the entrance behind him, locking it up once more.

Spotting a nearby bed, the old soldier gently placed the boy atop its blankets, and began a thorough check-up of him. Through the cloak, he could see his comrade's left shoulder looked a little strange, and looking at it more closely, Carth was relieved to find it only dislocated, and completely composed of flesh; the man tightly gripped the boy, and popped his shoulder back into place, surprised to find no reaction from his comrade; he had expected the boy to snap awake...no, his name was Erik. Had to be, the soldier thought, for there had been no other 14-year-olds on the Endar Spire. In fact, there had been no other recruits beside Leroux for the Endar Spire's crew, and the Jedi had been the ones requesting for him the most... Carth shook his head of those suspicious thoughts, swearing to switch to his typical paranoia once the boy was better. The soldier treated a blaster wound on the boy's flesh arm, but other than that and the ex-dislocated shoulder, there was nothing else afflicting Erik but bruises, and of course that head wound, and upon reflection, Carth realized it was enough to keep him knocked out for a fair amount of days.

Rising from his kneeled position on the floor by Erik's bed, knowing there was not much more treatment he could do for the boy at the moment, the soldier picked up the mask he had placed at the foot of the bed and went to a nearby sink, beginning to wash away the blood stains. Oddly enough, the process reminded him of washing dishes. In merely a matter of mintues, the mask was clear and a pure shade of white again, although considerably wet; Carth used a towel hanging on a hook a little ways above on the wall to dry the mask, and for a moment he was tempted to whistle a tune. Once done with that chore that had done its job in soothing his rattled nerves, the man went back to the bed to return the mask to the boy's face, and paused, his eyes transfixed on the facial disfigurement. And here I thought the kid was just being eccentric, or it was some sort of alien custom he picked up in his travels, thought Carth as he finally realized why Erik wore the mask.

The soldier did not wish to go into a full examination of the boy's face, thinking it way too much of a violation and rather unecessary, so the still moment was broken when he gently set the mask against Erik's face, and the man could not help but marvel at how much better he looked with it, how well it suited him. A shaft of moonlight struck Carth's bearded face, and he thought, nightime, that's why we've been so damn lucky with crowds and empty halls. For a few seconds he gazed at the slice of moon he could see through the window, then went forward and closed the gap showing the outside of Taris.

Author's Ending Notes: I believe my characterization of Carth has started well enough... A special thank-you to hikari-no-tsubasa, the author of the SW/POTO fic, Black Diamond, that I had mentioned in the notes of the prologue earlier; it's nice to know that I started the story well enough, for I had some worries over its beginning, and to know that so far the tale is well-rooted in the SW world. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please remember to leave a review.


	4. Chapter 3

Author's Beginning Notes: Back to typical Erik POV for the most part here. Carth Onasi, the Endar Spire, the Jedi Bastila, the planet Taris--all are KOTOR related, and mostly everything else. (Most of this fic will be KOTOR related, with POTO being the only differing elements; in fact, this fic could be somewhat considered a novelization of KOTOR if not for the POTO characters.) Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story and please remember to leave a review.

Summary: (AU SW: Knights of the Old Republic/POTO crossover) The Force has mysteriously bonded Erik with the Jedi Bastila, causing a chain of events that will shake the very foundations of the galaxy far, far way 4,000 years before the rise of the Galactic Empire...

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera or Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, a.k.a. KOTOR.

Chapter 3

Getting Down to Business

_She was beautiful. She was human. She was a Jedi. She was fighting. Erik sees her curtain of relatively short, dark brown hair framing her lightly tanned face, which is engraved with an expression of cool calculation. The simple robes adorning her lithe figure glow a tint of green from her lightsaber, as it strikes a streak of crimson, clearly a Sith's weapon, although he cannot see her opponent; the boy only sees the woman, and he isn't complaining. A desperate longing seizes him, a desire to snatch a sheet of paper and begin drawing her, favorably in charcoal, charcoal's perfect to capture the chaotic energy he senses lurking beneath her mask of cool calculation, and maybe just a slash of green paint for her lightsaber. And music, yes music, he's inspired to sing and compose and play any instrument available, express the harsh notes demonstrating the granite coldness shading her luminous eyes. Erik wants so much... Then there is a shriek, and the ethereal image of the Jedi shatters into a million shards as if it were a mirror, and he feels those shards bite into his flesh, biting and biting and biting until he's crying out in agony, but his voice sounds younger, as if he were a little child again..._

With all the sweat, the mask absolutely stuck to his face as Erik bolted upward like a shot, panting heavily in haggard breathes; the boy collapsed in on himself somewhat, cradling his head, trying to remember his dream, annoyed to only find fragments; the female Jedi was clear, as was her battle with the Sith, but he could not remember what had caused his heart to viciously hammer against his chest as if it wanted to burst free, he could not recall what had frightened him so.

"Erik?" The boy's head snapped up at his name, and immediately his posture straightened, so tensed up he literally ached. Despite realizing it was Carth who had spoken, who looked so pale now, his bearded face full of concern, Erik did not relax, refusing to let his guard down. Sweeping back a strand of dark hair out of his eyes, briefly brushing aginst his bandaged forehead, his golden eyes scanned the location he was currently in, although his face remained turned in Carth's direction; the room was a fair size, the ceiling remarkably high, but the overall decor shabby; the entire archictecture was grotesque, but it was efficient for a hiding spot, for that was quite obviously the identity of his location.

"Are you alright? One minute you were sleeping just fine, the next trembling and sweating and screaming like hell--"

"How long have I been out," the boy snapped, ashamed of his screams, wanting to change the subject, and of course get straight down to business. He was thankful to Carth for taking the not-so-subtle hint.

"About 4 days...your head was hurt pretty badly after we crashed on Taris," explained the old soldier as he pulled a seat closer to Erik's bed and took his place in it, exuding patience.

"Really," grunted the boy, his sarcasm too exhausted to have its usual bite, but he nevertheless reveled in Carth's frown, the way his eyes clouded over with irritation.

"Am I to assume that while I was unconscious, you took me here," Erik asked knowingly, sweeping his right arm around to indicate the shabby room, checking himself that his mechanical replacement was still in prime working order after the crash, and a wave of relief washed over him to find that it was.

"Yes, I--"

"Thank you," Erik quietly said, once again interrupting Carth. The elder man gave him a considering look, then simply nodded.

"Our current situation...isn't the greatest--"

"I figured, but our crisis is probably worse than what even I can imagine."

"--but I've been in worst," Carth finished in clipped tones, and a childish urge told Erik to scoff, but his overall maturity caused him to resist, recalling the man's battle history. Carth waited, as if expecting the boy to talk again, but Erik remained silent and busied himself with releasing his hair from its loosened tail, its rough dark tresses falling down wildly.

"...You've probably already expected that the Sith fleet would place Taris under quaratine and scour the planet for the Endar Spire's escape pods, for Bastila," the man said, his tone filled with a small tint of mocking that the boy supposed he sort of deserved. Choking down his instinct for a sarcastic response, Erik merely nodded as he re-tied his tail in a more firm hold, but the sarcasm would not be chained down.

"I suppose it would be too much to hope for that Bastila is currently out on some errand or other and will back here shortly?"

Carth sighed. "Yes, Bastila isn't here with us, but I do have some idea where she is...I've heard reports of some escape pods landing in the Under City--"

"The Under City? I'm embarassed to say, I've never visited Taris before..."

"Well, I did imagine that there were **some** places you hadn't traveled to yet... Taris is a world with 3 main cities, all piled on top of each other. Right now, we're in the highest level, the Upper City, also the richest."

"And I bet the cities underneath grow more poor."

"It's an easy pattern to figure out... The Lower City is below here, and then there's the Under City."

"Of course our destination would be the lowest... Would I be hoping too much again if I assumed there was a method to skip levels?"

"Afraid so." Carth and Erik both sighed, and instantly their eyes snapped toward each other, both wearing identical frowns. Well, this is a great start to an undoubtedly long partnership, the boy thought bitterly as he examined his bandages again, growling when he realized that he'd be stuck with them for a few more days, even with his freak healing factor.

"Let's go now," replied Erik in a crisp tone as he abruptly stood up, and Carth did so as well, but the boy cringed at the increased concern in the elder man's face.

"Are you sure about that? You're still--"

"My head's feeling well enough, and our situation is still dire, even if you've been in worse spots." Unwilling to waste any time on futile debate, Erik immediately turned his back on Carth without another word and went toward the only door in the room, the entrance automatically opening up as its sensors picked up his nearing presence. Back still facing Onasi, a smirk spread on the boy's face as he heard the elder man softly curse behind him, also pleased to have the sound of the soldier's following footsteps reach his ears. His smirk was wiped clean off his face as the sight of 3 Sith troopers greeted his view, although apparently their attention was riveted on an alien Duros standing a few feet ahead in the hall. The Duros was practically yelling, and the boy's ears instinctively translated the foreign tongue into the Basic language.

"This is outrageous, you've already thoroughly searched this apartment complex, and you come back here again! You...you Sith can't just do whatever you want at the expense of others!"

"We Sith will do whatever is necessary, and we always command proper respect while doing so, something you dearly lack," responded the lead Sith trooper in a bored tone as he gripped the blaster at his side. "You need to be taught a lesson." The punjab lasso snapped the man's neck before he could even pull the trigger, and the Duros just gawked at his masked savior. The remaining troopers went past their shock in seconds, lifting up their own blasters, but that was still an ample amount of time for Carth to strike them down with a few quick shots. The lead trooper with the broken neck soon joined his comrades down on the floor, once Erik had loosened his lasso's noose and pulled the weapon back by his side. The boy was otherwise oblivious to Onasi's expression, torn between agreeing with the good deed and irritated at the apparent lack of ability for lying low.

"Thank...thank you, thank you so much," the Duros said with his head bowed in gratitude, his voice unsteady, obviously shaken over his near-death experience.

"It was foolish to have been so forward in your defiance against them," the boy replied in a clipped tone as he casually kicked one of the Sith bodies, barely disturbing its limp pose.

"You are correct human; I'll keep a tighter reign on my emotions in the future... Don't worry about the bodies," spoke the Duros abruptly, and the boy's eyes widened behind the mask at the implied proposal.

"Oh no," began Erik anxiously with his glove raised to emphasize his refusal, "there's no need for you to--"

"You saved my life, and you could get in trouble for it if these bodies are found...of course there's a need," interrupted the Duros with a calm, practical look in his eyes. "I'll hide the bodies for you, and you can continue peacefully on your way." Peacefully, yeah right, the boy thought sarcastically as he tried to protest some more, but Carth's hand on his shoulder stopped him. Erik turned angrily toward him, biting back a growl as he gracefully removed the soldier's hand from his body; he didn't like being touched if he could help it...

"We really do need to be getting on our way," the man reminded in a pointed voice, a glare in his eyes. The boy matched Carth with his own glare, and the contest lasted for a few more seconds before common sense caught up with Erik, screaming about the urgency in finding Bastila. Stiffly, Erik nodded in reluctant agreement with Onasi, then turned to back to the Duros.

"Thank you, we deeply appreciate the help," Erik said solemnly as he bowed his head in return. Carth started heading off first, and the boy followed him, and once they reached the apartment complex's exit into the Upper City, he turned back one last time to wave farewell to the Duros, who returned the gesture with his own wave as he hefted one dead Sith on his shoulder. However, Carth, who had gotten out of the building before Erik, impatiently snapped his arm out through the open doorway and interrupted the boy's silent farewell as he dragged him out in an undignified manner, soon learning the hard way how temperamental his comrade was. "Why me," muttered the soldier under his breath as he rubbed his arm in the spot where Erik had punched him in, following the boy as he stalked aimlessly ahead in a bit of a huff.

Author's Ending Notes: The main cast--including Erik--in this story will be fairly large--10, I think--although it will probably take a while before they're all together. Erik won't be the only character with a backstory, but his will be...quite deep and complex. (That's about all I can say now...) Anyway, thank you for reading, and please remember to leave a review.


	5. Chapter 4

Author's Beginning Notes:

Summary: (AU SW: Knights of the Old Republic/POTO crossover) The Force has mysteriously bonded Erik with the Jedi Bastila, causing a chain of events that will shake the very foundations of the galaxy far, far way 4,000 years before the rise of the Galactic Empire...

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera or Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, a.k.a. KOTOR.

Chapter 4

Davik, Gangs, and Rakghouls, Oh My

Once Erik and Carth were finished shopping for other necessary supplies, they headed over to the heavily discussed Upper City cantina.

"Cantinas are wonderful," the boy had explained to his companion in a mock-serious voice as he tiptoed across the handrails of the street they were crossing, Carth sorely tempted to roll his eyes at the seemingly juvenile game. "You can always count on pure honesty there, the perfect nerve-centers of information."

"And none of the dancers and drinking don't add to their appeal at all," the elder man wondered out loud as he finally rolled his eyes.

"The beverages aren't nearly as tasteful as one would be lead to be believe, and there's the fact that they impair judgement and deceny far too much for my interest," replied Erik in tones of great disgust, his face set in a grimace that tugged a small smile from Carth's lips. The boy's golden eyes from behind the mask grew thoughtful as he began adressing the second part of the soldier's comment.

"The dancers on the other hand are a more complicated matter; my baser instincts cause me to enjoy their inherent sexuality, my mind critically examines the art in their technique, and my heart can't help but pity them since more often than not they do it out of forced necessity, not from any dream of their own."

"Do you really believe all Cantina dancers are like that? The forced necessity thing, I mean," asked Carth, recalling a few dancers who he had met himself before he had married, and they seemed to enjoy their jobs.

"Well, all the ones I've seen are like that," the boy darkly replied, a faraway look in his eyes.

"...Tatooine?"

"Yes, very observant Onasi; I do refer mostly to the dancers on Tatooine... I suppose my focus on it is a side-effect of my birth having taken place there," spoke Erik in what appeared to be a flippant tone as he flashed an almost childish carefree smile, but Carth could detect the bitterness lacing his voice's edge. Erik abruptly paused, one boot suspended in mid-air during his interrupted scaling of the handrails, his eyes riveted on a point somewhere beyond, where voices drifted into the air.

"You owe 200 credits, not 50," a boorish-looking man growled as he towered over a frail, aging fellow with a considerably bald head and snowy white beard flowing from his wrinkled face, a Rodian in the background waving a blaster crazily about.

"200! But...but...but...but I can't possibly pay that much to Davik," stuttered the elder, his bent form cowering beyond his control. Oh, bloody hell, Erik mentally growled as he jumped off the handrails and made his way toward the commotion, Carth hovering over his shoulder whispering about keeping a low profile.

"They're going to crush the poor wretch over a couple of credits," the boy heatedly whispered back to the soldier.

"I know that, I'm just letting you know I've got your back," Onasi whispered back with the same venomous heat. The boy blinked rapidly in surprise at the man's explicit honesty, then slowly his trademark smirk painted itself beneath his mask.

"So, that whole lecture on keeping low was some preliminary repeating of the things we should do versus what we want to do and are going to do," questioned Erik in a pain-stakingly lucid voice, full of a gloating nature.

"...Pretty much, although I wouldn't really call it a lecture--"

"Of course you wouldn't," replied the boy in a mock-soothing tone reserved for placating small children, and before Carth could retort an infuriated response, the rather psychotic-looking Rodian spoke up, his words translated to Basic in the boy's ears.

"If you can't repay Davik's debt in credits, you'll have to pay him back with your daughter... She'll make a decent enough slave." Erik saw red.

"NO! Not my child, anything but her, oh please, please show mercy!" Through his haze of red the boy noted that the elder was down on his knees desperately begging.

"Mercy," spat out the boorish human, an incredulous look in his beady eyes. "Davik doesn't run his business on mercy old man, he runs it on--"

How this Davik ran his business was never fully revealed at that point, Erik's mechanical fist having collided with the lackey's skull, and since the boy had been aiming to kill, the man dropped dead on the floor with a bloody pulp for a head now. The red still flitting around the corners of Erik's vision, the boy heard the click of the Rodian's blaster behind him, and the sizzling bang of Carth's own weapon, resulting in the soft pattering of a body dropping onto the cold hard cement. Well, we **do** work pretty well together in combat, the boy considered as he looked down at the elder, who slowly stood up, disbelief etched in the wrinkles of his face.

"Tha--thank you, kind sirs," he stuttered, but not as badly as he had done in front of the 2 thugs.

"We only delayed the inevitable," spoke Erik in a monotone voice as he groped inside his pocket. "This Davik person will probably just send more thugs breathing down your neck for whatever debt you owe him, so..." and the boy removed his hand from his pocket, successful in finding 150 credits. He offered the amount to the elder, whose eyes practically burst out of their sockets.

"You're giving him that many credits! That's...pretty damn generous," muttered Carth impressed, his eyes riveted on Erik's offered gloved hand.

"I can stand the loss," the boy whispered to his comrade as the elder gladly accepted the credits, almost snatching them from Erik's glove, the boy's face betraying no offense; relief could be overwhelming, Erik noted... The elder cupped the 150 credits in his hands, bending his stooped form even further into a bow.

"Again, I thank you both... I only wish there was some way I could repay you..."

"There is a way," Carth put in eagerly. "We're new here on Taris, and we'd like some information--"

"In particular, our curiosity is really quirked about this Davik person," Erik joined in, already fully certain that the man was some sort of crime lord.

"Davik!.. Well, he's certainly not someone you'd want to get involved with, but you've probably already figured that out," the elder began with his arms spread helplessly apart, the credits Erik had given him safely secured in his own pocket. "But, it **would **be best not be ignorant of Davik, ignoring him will just invite trouble... The man is the one and only crime lord on Taris, and he's more than enough. It's been said that he's a member of the Exchange--you know, that intergalactic criminal organization--and there really hasn't been anything to dispute that. As crime lord, he covers all the shady business on Taris--assassinations, slavery, the black market, among other unsavory practices." The boy's reckless imagination burrowed into twisted ideas of what 'other unsavory practices' Davik did, ideas Erik dared not share with anyone else.

"That's about all I know about Davik... Is there anything else?" The boy was more than a little surprised, sure that the elder would only tell them about Davik... He was willing to help more?

"Do you happen to know anything about the escape pods in the Under City," questioned Carth while the boy had been shaken by shock, but once he snapped out of it, Erik frowned, wondering if the soldier was being a little too obvious with that particular question? But no, this man won't give any trouble, considered Erik as he once more examined the elder.

"Nothing else besides what you've already said," offered the elder in an almost apologetic tone.

"Well, do you know how we can get to the Under City," Erik asked, knowing full well that he was pretty much doing the same thing he had judged Carth harshly on just a few seconds ago.

The elder looked shocked, even horrifed, but he stuttered out, "There...there are elevators to be taken, but they can only go one level, so that means you would have to take the elevator here in the Upper City by the Equipment Emporium to the Lower City, and then take that place's elevator to the Under City, and you're there... But you don't want to go there."

"Why wouldn't we," the boy challenged with an arched eyebrow beneath his mask and a frown to match, curiosity buzzing in his brain.

"The Lower City is gripped in a vicious gang war between the Black Vulkars and the Hidden Beks, and the Under City is filled with ravenous rakghouls," answered the elder, Erik noticing how he shivered, and didn't seem conscious of the gesture.

"Rakghouls," Carth questioned, a flicker of foreboding in his eyes.

"They're horrible, flesh-eating monsters, but that's not the worst part... The worst part is that if a person is afflicted by their poisonous bite, they're infected."

"By a fatal disease, no doubt," the boy stated in grim confidence.

"No, worse than that...the infection can cause the person to change into a rakghoul himself." Now it was Erik's turn to shudder, not at all thinking about how he was wrong, preoccupied with the thought of the horrendous transformation of your very being into something completely foreign...

"Now do you understand why you don't want to go there," whispered the elder, undoubtedly noticing the boy's shiver, and Erik inwardly kicked himself viciously for another blatant display of weakness.

"Thank you sir for the information," Carth whispered as well, turning to leave, and the boy automatically followed his move, his black cloak swishing in his wake.

"No, thank you," the elder corrected as he too turned to go, waving farewell as he went, and Erik returned the gesture, although his arm felt like lead weight, and it wasn't even his mechanical arm, not that it still felt like lead weight...no, the boy had gotten used to the false limb long ago...

"...He said near the Equipment Emporium, right?"

"Yes, he did... Can't believe we didn't spot it ourselves," the boy muttered in an annoyed voice, hiding his gratitude to Carth for easily getting themselves back to business.

"Well, we weren't looking for it in the first place, you know, just shopping for supplies," the soldier offered up, and Erik just shook his head.

"True, but we really should have... Elevators were the obvious answer to getting to the lower levels."

"Well, it could've been stairs."

"...Stairs?"

"What?"

"Carth, were you thinking when you said that? I mean, come on, stairs in this day and age?"

"Hey, it** could** happen."

"Whatever," the boy replied as he rolled his eyes, folding his arms behind his head carelessly, yet Carth's smile began to irritate him.

"What," he finally asked the man exasperatedly as they neared closer to the Equipment Emporium.

"Well, it's just," but the soldier cut himself off as he began to laugh, and Erik had the mad urge to shut his face up with his fist. "It's just...it's just, well...saying 'whatever,' it's the first time you actually looked like a kid to me." Erik just gawked at him, for a rare moment being struck silent.

Author's Ending Notes:


End file.
